


Never Could Sit Still

by Wallwalker



Category: Bastion
Genre: Angry Makeouts, Bisexuality, Community: bastionkinked, M/M, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kid never liked Percy's grin. Didn't mean they didn't seek each other out once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Could Sit Still

Percy never had much of a gift for lyin' when he was a kid. That was the problem.

See, ever since you two were kids, growin' up together in that school you hated so much, Percy's been at your elbow. It ain't that he respected you; he just liked trouble, but he was too small and too weak to get into it himself and win. Short, skinny, jumpy. Couldn't sit still, that kid.

You didn't want him to follow you, but he always did. And whenever you got into trouble, there he was - and Percy had always seen the whole thing. Percy was the one who always told the truth, and usually the truth was what got you into deeper trouble than you were already in. "He was the one who punched first!" he'd say, grinning that stupid grin. "That other kid just insulted his mother, but he didn't even fight back!"

See, Percy was honest, but he didn't know when the truth oughta be told, and when it's just rubbing salt in an open wound. Your instructors knew that you'd done some fightin'. They didn't need to know who hit first, or who said what. But Percy, he figured they'd like him better if he told 'em everything. And you were usually the one who ended up paying for it.

He was such a shrimpy little kid. You know damn well that he was doin' it to save his own skin from the same bullies that kept tormentin' you, day after day. But that didn't stop you from glarin' at him whenever another one of his tales got you in deeper trouble than before. And it sure didn't stop you from feelin' smug when he winced away, ever so slightly.

\---

It's in that awkward between time - after you were done with schoolin', before the Masons would take you on your next birthday - when you came back, an hour after school, and caught the little snitch on his way home. You had to see him again, didn't you? Had to have one last chance to tell him that honesty wasn't always the best thing, not when it ended up screwin' you over the way it had.

You didn't know what you were plannin' to do, truth be told. You ain't the sort to start fights, not unless there's somethin' on the line. You just wanted to say goodbye, to let him know you ain't forgettin' him. You didn't expect to have him pushed up against a wall, his mouth slack with surprise, his skinny arms tense under your big hands....

And you really don't expect him to relax and give you that damn grin a his, the one that means he's gotten outta somethin' again, and then when you get up in his face to give him a piece of your mind he gets back into yours, only there's no yellin' about it. A lot of teeth - Percy ain't got teeth like a weasel, the way you imagined, but he bites like one - but not a lot of noise at all.

You're shocked right outta your mind, for a minute, and you just stand there and stare at him, until he raises an eyebrow and asks you what you're plannin' to do about it, and in all honesty? You don't know. You're a kid, you never thought about this sorta thing - your worries were kinda taken up by carin' for your mother and dealin' with the bullies. Kissin's never entered into it, one way or the other.

Still. You were never one to back down from a challenge, and that was a challenge if you ever heard one. It ain't long before you're kissin' him again, bitin' him for all you're worth, expectin' him to back down. But he never does.

If anybody says anything as they walk past, you don't hear it.

\---

When you left for the Rippling Walls, well, you figured you'd never see the little bastard again.

Might seem odd, but you figured it was just a one-off thing. It was just a few kisses in the street and a few clumsy fumbles in a dark alley, with Percy bein' every bit as awkward as you were. Not a bad thing, although it sure as hell ain't gonna make you stop wantin' to pop that face of his, if only you weren't tryin' to be the better man about it all. It just wasn't somethin' that was gonna happen again.

Imagine your surprise, then, when he shows up at The Sole Regret one day, drinkin' his cider, lookin' for all the world like he belongs there. The soldiers all gave him a wide berth - the black star he's wearin' on his cloak has somethin' to do with that, since no one really wants to mess with any of the Spymaster's men.

You make it look like you ain't surprised when you sit down next to him. "Funny," you say. "I thought you didn't know anything about lying."

"I'm a fast learner," he says, and gives you that familiar ratty grin. "Come on, sit down. Roddy's making your favorite."

You sit down. You ain't gonna lose at this game with an old snitch like Percy. And when Roddy brings you a drink - your honest-to-gods favorite, bitter and warm and smooth at the same time - you don't ask whether he asked him to make your favorite or whether he already knew.

Percy lasts a hell of a long time, drinkin' that stuff. Either he's got a better tolerance for the stuff than you suspected, or he's waterin' it down so he doesn't have to look like a lightweight. But every time you try to get a good look at his cider he pulls it away, and if you keep at it he calls for more for you, 'cuz you're obviously nursin' a powerful thirst.

Your tolerance is pretty damned good, but he's hammerin' away at it with that strong drink. By the time he leans in for another kiss - old times, he whispers, with a gleam in his eye - you're not so far gone that you think it's a good idea, but far enough that you don't think it's that bad of one, either.

Nobody says a word as the two of you walk out together. You ain't been there long, but you've already had your share of hard days on the the wall. And all that ever follows hard days are long and lonely nights.

\---

Son of a bitch never lets you know when he's comin'. And usually he doesn't announce himself, either - you'll be flirtin' with Nacie at the bar when you catch him drinkin' out of the corner of your eye, or you'll be walkin' back from patrol and see a shadow leanin' against the stones of the wall.

"You're watchin' me," you accuse him once, as you stride towards him, tryin' not to look unnerved.

"It's the hair, Kid," he says, with that infuriating grin. "You stand out. Makes for good practice."

"That all this is, Percy?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gruff but there's a bit of hurt that slips in, or somethin' like that. He's a coward and a jerk and a snitch, but damn you if you ain't startin' to get accustomed to keepin' his company. You look forward to seein' him almost as much as you look forward to seein' Nacie's sweet face at the end of a long walk - not in the same way, of course. Nacie treats you like you're somebody special, pays attention to you beyond what you'd expect a barmaid to do. She's right sweet on you, although you ain't sure what to do about it yet.

Percy's different. The other Masons say it's a right gift to have a true rival, somebody who can match you. Now, maybe Percy's not matchin' you in the way they mean - he probably can't even lift a hammer. But there ain't many people on that wall who can, not when you really get goin'; they say you got a gift, that you're naturally inclined to the work, that you can do things with that hammer that most Masons need years of work and a long time in a Forge to do. Fightin' against them, well, it ain't interestin'. Not like tryin' to outwit this little rat.

"Don't be dense," he answers, and either he's offended, or he's gettin' better at lying. "Now, c'mon. I need a drink."

"I'll buy us drinks later," you say - you ain't lettin' him order you around - and grab him by the scruff of his ridiculous collar. He doesn't struggle, although you can see the smirk before you kiss it away, and you wonder if maybe you didn't just play right into his hands. Son of a bitch is a fast learner, which is probably why you're on the walls and he's just visitin', probably fraternizing against orders. You oughta find out; like the older Masons say, leverage is everything.

But there'll be time for that in a couple of hours.

\---

You're in no good kinda mood.

You're sittin' outside your old house - it ain't yours, not anymore, not since the Physics took it to pay off the bills your momma owed - with your head in your hands. You just found out about how it happened - the turn for the worse, the money bein' missing, the way she died askin' to see her son again - and you're sad and hurt and wishin' that Nacie was there to tell you it was gonna be all right. You ain't sure if she would, or if she'd even want to say those things to a man like you, but you're wishin' she could.

That's why you ain't too happy when it's Percy that joins you on your way back. You are in no gods-damned mood.

Percy keeps his distance, keeps his mouth shut for most of the walk back to the skyways. It's the only reason you don't pick him up and throw him 'cross the street, Marshalls be damned.

"Where you gonna go?" he finally asks, when you've almost reached it.

"Where d'ya think?" you say, real quiet so that you don't have to yell. "Who else would take me?"

"Don't be dense," he snaps back - it's his favorite way to let you know you've said somethin' incredibly ignorant - and you whirl on him. He flinches back, but not enough to make him stop talkin'. "You've been out there for five years, nobody's ever done more than that! You think that the Builders in the city proper wouldn't take you? Schoolin' or no, they'd take a man if the Masons gave him their blessing, an' it's better than throwing your life away out there -"

"I ain't throwin' nothing away," you say, quick, before he can keep talkin'. He's gettin' better with words; he might just convince you. "I belong out there. It feels right, holdin' that hammer in my hands on patrol, and I don't see where it's any of your damn business anyway -"

He grabs your arm. You wrench it away, but you don't push him back. He's breathin' hard, and there's hurt in his eyes, real hurt, and you don't think it's all from his arm.

"Sorry," you say. "But I still don't get why you give a damn."

"Me neither," he says, with a rueful smile, "and yet I keep comin' back."

Damn it. You know nothin' about Percy, do you? Nothin' about his work, although that's probably for the better. You don't know if he has a family, you don't know if he's got somebody else for sweet words and lazy days. For all you know, you're all he's got, and that's a pretty soberin' thought.

"I've got a few friends that owe me a favor," he says, before you can apologize again; he's probably already tired of apologies. "Gonna see if I can find out who messed up, where your money went."

"You don't have to do that," you say, tiredly. "I don't want it."

"You might think different in another five years. Look, Kid, I can't do much more than this, but I'm gonna do it. Don't stop me, okay? And don't go to the Marshalls, they ain't much for my friends' methods."

It takes you a while before it sinks in - you're halfway to the skypad, ready to go back to the Masons. "I want the man who did it to pay," you say. "Not with his life. But he deserves somethin' for stealin' from my momma."

"'Course he does, Kid," Percy says. "We all deserve somethin', don't we?" And he gives you his weasel's grin, and you find yourself sneerin' right back.

You stop yourself from thankin' him and step on the pad before you can change your mind. You've never thanked him before, and he probably wouldn't know what to do with it if you did.

\---

Percy doesn't show up as often in the next couple years. He's busy, you figure. Maybe he's bein' groomed to go out and watch the Ura up close, under some guise of diplomacy. Or maybe he's busy keepin' tabs on some other organization. Who can say? Not you, that's for sure.

Still, he shows up enough that you're not surprised to see him one evening, sitting outside your door. You are surprised to see him lookin' mighty pensive, though, and sittin' perfectly still next to the door of your private quarters. You're somethin' of a celebrity amongst the Masons; gettin' a private room was pretty easy for you, and it's helped you out from time to time. Not just with Percy, either. You know a little bit more about what to do with a girl who's sweet on you, now.

Percy doesn't say much when you approach. No teasin', no questions about your pleasure-girl, not even a sneer to speak of. "Hey," he says, staring up at you, and you realize with a start that he ain't anywhere close to sober.

"For Pyth's sake," you say, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up. "Get inside before someone hauls you off for intoxication."

"The hell they would," he slurs, but he doesn't fight as you push him into a chair. Not on the bed - it's not that he's drunk, it's that he started out drunk. Ain't like him, not at all.

"They would," you insist, "Spymaster's agent or not." You pour a glass of water and try to get him to drink it, and you think you manage to spill some in his mouth. He might even have swallowed a little of it. "What in Hense's name are you doin' to yourself?"

"Heh." He manages a sloppy sneer, at least. "Hense. She's why you're doin' this, right? Me an' your pretty little barmaid - one for pleasure and one for pain. They say that's the divine will, don't they?"

You ignore him. This ain't the time to debate religious stuff, is it? "Somethin's gotten into your head," you say, "an' it ain't just the booze."

"You're in my damn head, Kid," he manages. "It ever occur to you to ask what I'm doin' here? Did you ever wake up an' think to shake me awake and ask me what the hell I'm doin' 'fore you left me sleepin' here?"

You turn and stare at him, at the half-sneer and the big brown eyes, and you grit your teeth. "No," you admit, quietly.

He leans back in the chair, so far he nearly falls over. You catch him, though, lay him on his side on the bedroll. Better that way if he ends up sick. "Yeah," he says. "I know. Never said a damn word. But I know. If you knew what I know... you don't have a clue what's happenin' in the city, do you?"

"No," you say, and he stares up at you with his glazed eyes before looking away. "I don't," you continue. "There's nothin' left for me there."

"Yeah," he answers, with a sick little smile. "Nothing. Guess you're right."

You sit up with him that night, make sure he doesn't end up sick, or worse. He's fine when you leave for the morning's patrol, and by the time you get back you've forgotten about it. It was a fluke, you tell yourself. Man with a hard life, havin' a hard day. Ain't nothin' to worry about.

(Three days later you wake up on a rock floatin' in the middle of the sky, world fallin' down all around you.)

\---

Percy's standin' by the forge in the Ward, smilin' just the way you remember. Pity there ain't that much left of him. "Hell of a place for you to turn up," you say, half-expecting him to shake off the ash and start talkin' back the way he always did.

He doesn't, of course. He's as gone as everybody else around you, nothin' but a pile of dust. You close your eyes. There's already a hollow place inside you, findin' out that Nacie didn't make it back, that you'd never see her again. You didn't know it could feel any more empty, but seein' Percy like this... you always figured he'd survive anything, that he'd find some way to slither out of it the way he always did. You didn't think he'd end up like this, a smilin' dandy amongst the ruins.

"For what it's worth, this ain't how I wanted to win." You lift your hammer. Nobody else is left to give the dead their due. Guess it suits that it oughta be you. "Bye, Percy."

You swing. The ashes scatter to dust, drifting away on a sudden gust of wind. Somethin' scratches at your throat, and you don't think it's just those ashes.

Son of a bitch, you think, as the dust burns your eyes. He just never could sit still.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not sure where this came from, but I thought it turned out fairly well (although I keep tweaking the last line, and the title, just to make it sound right. I think I have it now!)


End file.
